Wings of the Morning (60 page)

The screen in front of me flicked on and I heard Arnie’s voice again, giving us more details of our arrival and speaking of a special welcome. Suddenly there was a clear image of the
scene, quite a crowd on the apron in front of the terminal building, the huge sign above announcing ‘Heaven International Airport’, and then I could see Pente Broke Smith, a vast
compelling figure on the tarmac and probably scrabbling for a cigar in violation of all the rules.

I could see the camera vans now, clearly marked with the logo of Century Seven, my favourite News Channel, and I flicked over to see the image they were beaming. I could see and feel the
aircraft move as Arnie flipped us to port and we moved around onto final approach. The bright sun of Africa caught the Millennium flag on our tail plane and it flashed on the wings of our morning
as the Dreamliner snapped sharply into level descent. Arnie was determined on a smart and perfect landing. We were on target with just a few minutes to go.

I was tired from travel, emotionally charged by recent experience and no doubt fired by imagination. But the vision which then appeared remains crystal clear to me and I know that it will never
diminish.

I saw it first on the screen in front of my seat, a small cloud marooned by itself against the embracing blue of Millennium skies. As we drew closer, the cloud seemed to reform itself into two
figures enjoined, two head and shoulder profiles which startled me with the reminder of that precious photograph of Aischa and Ouye, captured in Mocamedes so many years ago.

I looked out of my window then, and as this feathery image drifted past, the faces seemed to turn towards me, blowing a single word of greeting, and the salutation of our people came sighing
down the generations in welcome to a warrior, returning home.